In ICU Bay 2,the machines charted Dante’s fragile existence in steady rhythms. The ventilator hissed softly. The pulse oximeter beat out a thin, persistent alarm whenever his oxygen dipped too low. The dialysis machine hummed beside him, fighting the toxins that still flooded his body.
Shannon sat in the chair at his side, her hand resting over his. She had not left him for hours. Her gaze stayed on his face, the rise and fall of his chest, and the slight tremor in his fingers.
When his eyelids moved, she leaned forward, her heart thudding against her ribs. “Dante, I’m here.”
His chest lifted shallowly against the ventilator. His lashes fluttered again, and for a moment, his eyes opened just enough to find her. Recognition flickered. His hand twitched weakly beneath hers.
“Can you hear me?” she whispered. “You made it.”
He tried to speak, but the tube in his throat stopped the sound. A soft warning tone chimed from the ventilator.
Hunt, who’d been dozing in a corner, stepped to Shannon’s side. His expression sharpened as he studied the monitor. “Keep talking to him. It may hold him steady.”
She smoothed her fingertips across Dante’s wrist and told him he was not alone. The oxygen saturation dropped another point. The monitor gave a deeper, more urgent alarm. Hisheart rate surged upward, then plummeted, then climbed again, repeating it all in jagged bursts.
Hunt’s voice cut through the room. “He’s crashing. Call anesthesia.” He pushed the CHARGE button on the crash cart.
Dante’s body jolted on the bed. The ECG reading fractured again into erratic spikes. The attending nurse struck the code button on the wall, shouting for help.
Staff flooded the room, disconnecting the vent. Bagging him to give him air. Shocking him again. Syringes filled with medication and chest compressions.
The door burst wide. Roe entered, already gloved and ready. He took one look at the monitor. “Move him. This is not cardiac. Something inside him has changed. He needs a CT scan and the operating room immediately.”
They transferred him in one synchronized motion. Oxygen was squeezed through the bag valve while the team ran with the gurney. A nurse straddled him doing compressions.
Shannon followed them out of the room, her breath breaking in her throat. The world narrowed to the wheels of the gurney ahead of her.
Roe turned quickly and placed a firm hand on her shoulder. “We’ll take care of him. You need to stay here. We’ll update you as soon as we can.”
Before she could respond, the surgical suite doors opened. They pushed Dante through, and the doors closed with quiet finality.
ICU WAITING ROOM
Shannon stood in the waiting area outside OR 3. Her hands trembled, and the tile floor seemed to tilt beneath her boots. She pressed her palms against her eyes and tried to steady herself. A nurse reported the CT scan showed a ruptured liver abscess with bleeding.
Her father reached her first. He had come to the floor at a run the moment she texted him. He saw her swaying on her feet and caught her before she fell. “Come here,” he said softly.
She let him pull her against his chest. Her shoulders shook, but her spine still held a line of stubborn strength.
Her father stroked her back, offering comfort without asking her to collapse into it. “He survived Africa. He survived the extraction. He survived two surgeries that should have killed him. He’s still fighting.”
“How much more?” Shannon swallowed with effort. “I saw him on the ground as they loaded him into my helo. I didn’t know who he was. I couldn’t get to him. And now he’s right there, and I still can’t get to him. I’m helpless.”
Mike hesitated only a moment before reaching into the inner pocket of his jacket. He withdrew a compact firearm wrapped in a cloth and placed it in her hands. “I hate having to do this now, but you need to be safe.”
She stared at it, stunned. “I can’t carry. I’m on leave.”
“You can carry if I authorize it,” Mike replied. “We have no idea who helped Krueger or whether any of them are here. I want you protected. You are not helpless.”
Shannon tucked the weapon into the inside pocket of her jacket, hidden but accessible. She lifted her chin. “Thanks.”
Mike kissed her temple, then sat beside her while she leaned against his shoulder, drawing what strength she could.
The hallway waitingarea outside the operating suite felt colder than the rest of the hospital. Shannon sat in a molded plastic chair, arms wrapped around herself, staring at OR 3’s closed doors. Every time a light flickered inside the small “In Use” sign above the frame, her stomach clenched.
Mike crouched in front of her, trying to catch her eyes. “You need something in your system,” he said gently. “You haven’t eaten since the airfield. You need water at least.” His brow furrowed. “Did you stop drinking so you don’t have to go to the bathroom?”
She shook her head. “I’m fine.”
